Dressed Up

Psalm 8; Luke 15:17-24; ESTHER 6:1-13

There is a reason why the last of the Ten Commandments is about envious plotting against one another—it seems there is no greater motivation for human action that gets us into more trouble. The story of Haman proves the point—and what makes his tale so timely is that it happens all the time everywhere (and was probably part of the lead story in this morning’s newspaper). He cannot stand to see an outsider succeed. Mordecai should have no place in the court of Ahasueras, yet he rises meteorically (wise counselors are always a needed commodity). Haman can’t stand it for all the usual reasons—he had been the “right-hand man,” his arc had been the meteoric shot upwards, his power and prestige had been the focus of community envy, but now, because of Mordecai, Haman can see only every single one of those “had beens.” He decides to work his vengeance on Mordecai, but everything goes awry, and instead of seeing his rival plummet in a ball of fire, Haman has to watch him reach the zenith of popularity. No wonder he drags home, the picture of abject depression.

Well and good—this story makes a nice plot line for the recently resurrected soap, “Dallas,” where envy, greed, and malice know no bounds. But what has it to do with us trying to practice faith in God who is love?

A lot, really.

Mordecai is a metaphor. He is a symbol of the power of faith to bring a positive presence into a world that is driven by Haman. His wisdom is not his own, but a gift from God as he lives fully in God’s presence, which is ironic when you realize that God never appears in the book of Esther—never—not even a passing reference.

But that is faith praxis.

One of the great hymns of the Church is “Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise”—a paean to the unknowability of God. That is the simple truth of faith—we worship a God we come to know vicariously. We have the story in scripture, and within that story, the narrative of God’s self-revelation in Christ, but what the narrative tells us is that God will be known through experiences of finding God’s presence in the words, actions, prayers, and presence of other human beings who come to shape us and our understanding of who we are and what life means within the world. The Apostle John states it clearly, “No one has ever seen God, but if we love one another, God lives in us and God’s love is perfected in us” (cf. 1 John 4:12). 

So, to find God, we look deeply into experiences of human beings who were able to manifest the presence of God in who they were. Hence, many of us recall with deep love Sunday School teachers, educators, parents, loved ones, friends, colleagues, or classmates who just seemed to walk in especial holiness, exuding God as they walked with us, listened to us, and cared for us. 

Mordecai is such a person. Being a Jew in Babylon was not easy. They were exiles in every nuance of that term. Prejudice and bigotry were as rampant then as they are now, and many people—e.g., Haman—were just itching to find a reason to reject them and even turn violent toward them just because—here is the real evil of bigotry. But Mordecai finds himself “clothed” in God—i.e., draped in God’s preserving presence despite those who would do him harm. 

That is the point really of the first denouement in the Parable of the Prodigal Sons (Lk. 15:11-32)—when the younger son gets home, he finds himself clothed in the enfolding love of his father, symbolized in the new clothes he gets. When the boy awakens to his need for the father—his love, care, guidance, and protection—he finds it already there, waiting for him—never in question, nor ever in doubt. 

As we awaken to God—as we perceive God in those who love and care for us—we find ourselves covered in God’s redeeming presence and grace. For example, last winter, my daughter Chelsea fell ill while visiting her brother. It got really bad as stomach viruses can do, but Chelsea was not alone. Perry and his friends rose to the occasion, tending her, making sure she had fluids and a safe place to stay, and when it would not let go, hauled her to the hospital in the middle of the night, staying en masse with her in the chaotic city ER. She knew she was loved, and her faith in God’s was confirmed and deepened by the experience—those very human hands became the implements of healing through God. 

In full disclosure, not a week later, Perry and Chelsea were in a typical sibling spat, all the miracle of grace lost in basic humanity, but that is actually the power and profundity of our faith praxis—God chooses to reveal God’s own being through the incredibly human vessels that we are. God clothes us in the grace, compassion, and presence so desperately needed in the world to bring redemption, resurrection, and reclamation to life. Mordecai was as human as they come—earlier, his plot included counseling Esther to dance provocatively before the king to get their way—but God still abided in and through him, working their salvation. God can use any raw material we offer.

The key is offering ourselves—God will wait for us to do so—another key lesson from the parable—but we have to make that step—we have to choose to go home to God; we have to choose to look for God; we have to choose to be present and to seek the presence of God in others—faith really is a choice. But as we do so, God will be with us, in us, and through us to keep us, to help us, and to hold us in his embrace, from which nothing can lift us or break us.

So, avoid being Haman—even when you feel completely justified in being so—seek instead to be Mordecai—allowing God to direct, govern, and lead you through the morass of humanity.

You will be clothed with righteousness—the true and powerful presence of God, and the love that is God.